


Unfettered

by bioticsandheadshots



Series: Fictober: 2018 [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 01:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticsandheadshots/pseuds/bioticsandheadshots
Summary: The mark has made Gretchen Trevelyan useful, for now. She struggles with her feelings of belonging and contemplates a life she never thought possible before now.





	Unfettered

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fictober prompt "Will that be all?"

“Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

Gretchen’s fingers twitch at her side, aching to curl into fists but she plasters a smile on her face and responds with the cool diplomacy with which she’d been trained. As soon as the conversation concludes, she hurries through the Chantry, pushing her way out into the brisk wind that swirls specks of snow across Haven. Not stopping to chat with anyone, she makes her way through the bustle of the ramshackle camp to the little hut she’d been assigned. It’s there that she finally allows herself to cry.

She’s nothing to these people save a tool. A way to close the rift, only valuable because of the mark on her hand. Without it, she wouldn’t have a place here; even Josephine, hands unmarred by the use of a blade, is battle-tested in her own way and can sunder nations with a single sentence.

Swiping tears from her cheeks, Gretchen swallows down the rest of her self-pity. Without the mark, she’d be dead, killed in the explosion that had decimated the entire conclave. Call it circumstance or divine providence, whichever you like, but the mark had saved her. She’d do well to remember that, rather than feeling sorry for herself. If this is to be her role, so be it.

Still, that desire for a connection aches a little.

Pushing herself from the lumpy mattress, she makes her way to the door. Solas, at least, is always willing to speak with her and she’s fascinated by him. So different than any of the mages she’d known in Ostwick, he reminds her of a neglected corner in the Circle’s courtyard where she’d hidden herself away with her books. Ivy had thrust itself through cracks in the pavers and reached to the sky, swallowing cold pillars in bright swathes of green. Any time one of the herbalists sought to eradicate it in an effort to return the space to its neat spartan focus, the plant just stretched higher until the groundskeepers finally left it alone to grow unfettered by the bounds of what they deemed appropriate. Solas is like that; growing and stretching beyond the bounds of anything she thought possible for a mage. It’s not safe, especially not now with the mage-templar war at its peak, but he makes her yearn to stretch toward the sun, to unfurl and bask in the freedom of choice.

Lost in her thoughts, wondering what he will teach her of the Fade today, she collides with a solid force and looks up to the sullen face belonging to the leader of the Inquisition’s forces.

“Pardon me, commander.” She stumbles back, putting distance between herself and the former templar.

Though no stranger to the whispers of what mages endure at their hands, Gretchen herself has never suffered the whims of a power-hungry templar. In Ostwick, she’d clung to the model-student role she’d been expected to fill, padding it with the polite diplomacy that came with the nobility of her birth. Though Commander Cullen asserts that he has left the order, she has no desire to antagonize him, especially not by flouting her unexpected freedoms under his nose.

His brow furrows as she scrambles to cover her wariness with a polite smile, but he makes no mention of it.

“No, my apologies, Herald. Are you headed to the war room? Shall I return?”

“Not at this moment. I need some time to rest before we proceed with the rift. I must be sure to be at my full strength.”

The Commander nods, but stands still as stone looking as though he has more to say. Her emotions have drained her and left her feeling on edge and the last thing she needs right now is an argument with Cullen about the new alliance with the rebel mages. She draws on her last bit of reserve and prays to the Maker that she captures the look of composed civility she aims for.

“Will that be all?”

“I, uh,” he stutters and clears his throat, golden eyes scanning the camp as if hoping for a reprieve.

For once, no one clamors for his attention so he’s left standing mute. His hands are restless, coming up to rest on the hilt of his sword, then dropping to his sides before he crosses them behind his back. The corner of Gretchen’s lip twitches; such a simple question that flusters this warrior before her.

“I just…” he starts again, gazing down at her with a fierce intensity that makes her catch her breath. “Are you alright, Herald?”

The hint of her smile disappears. “Don’t worry, Commander,” she snaps, letting her mask of decorum slip. “Your means of closing the breach remains undamaged. Just tired. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She rushes past him, his carmine cloak fluttering in the wake of her haste. A scout hurries in the opposite direction, report in hand, and Gretchen escapes without issue as Cullen diverts his focus to the needs of his troops.

Just a little longer, she tells herself.

Only, that is a lie. Once the breach is sealed, she’ll no longer be of use, but with the Circles destroyed, where will she go? At the top of the stairs, she slows. Solas stands in the sun, eyes closed, and she’s reminded that what she’s always known is only one possibility. Perhaps it’s time to stretch to the sun.


End file.
